"In the Combat Class," Cole continued, shifting his weight slightly, "it's not just about strength. There are different types depending on how you fight."
He raised a finger slightly, counting off as he spoke.
"Martial artists—close combat, raw technique."
"Sword users—precision, timing, lethal strikes."
"Weapon specialists—people who adapt to whatever they use."
He glanced at Zachary again.
"And that thing…" he said, nodding toward where Barnacle had been, "it's clearly a swordsmanship type."
A small pause.
"…But way sharper than it should be." Cole chuckled
Zachary looked ahead, his eyes drifting toward the remains of the ogre.
"…Yeah," he said quietly.
Zachary and Cole moved deeper into the dungeon, their footsteps echoing faintly through the jagged halls.
At first, it was more of the same.
Goblins.
Crawling creatures.
Distorted beasts hiding between the spikes.
But the deeper they went—
The stranger the monsters became.
Their shapes twisted, their movements less predictable, their attacks more aggressive.
Some had elongated limbs, others moved unnaturally fast, skittering along walls and ceilings.
Still—
They fell.
Easily.
Crack!
Zachary's fist connected with a creature's skull, the impact echoing as its body collapsed instantly.
Another lunged—
He sidestepped.
Thud!
A second strike.
Down.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Cole fought beside him, but the difference was obvious.
He struggled.
Not because he was weak—
But because Zachary was… something else entirely.
Cole blocked an incoming strike, gritting his teeth as the force pushed him back.
"Damn—these things are getting tougher…" he muttered, swinging his weapon to finish it off.
By the time he turned—
Zachary had already cleared the rest.
"…Seriously?" Cole exhaled, half-annoyed, half-impressed.
Zachary didn't respond.
He just kept walking.
Then—
They stopped.
The environment changed.
Abruptly.
Unnaturally.
The jagged stone walls… disappeared.
Replaced…
By something else.
"What is this?" Cole asked, his voice lowering instinctively.
Zachary looked around, his brows slightly furrowed.
"…I don't know either," he admitted.
The space around them was… out of place
The walls—
Flat.
Covered in a dull, mono-yellow color that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. The texture looked cheap, almost artificial, like it didn't belong in a dungeon at all.
Above them—
Fluorescent lights.
Rows of them.
Buzzing.
Constantly.
A low, irritating hum that filled the air without stopping.
"Woah…" Zachary muttered, glancing down.
"Is this… carpet?"
The floor beneath them wasn't stone anymore.
It was soft.
Slightly uneven.
And when he shifted his weight, it made a faint squishing sound.
Cole crouched slightly, pressing his hand against it.
"…Yeah," he said slowly, his expression tightening.
"But it's… damp."
He rubbed his fingers together.
"Like a wet paper towel."
The air felt different too.
Stale.
Heavy.
Like it hadn't moved in a long time.
Cole stood back up, glancing around cautiously.
"This place…" he muttered, his grip tightening on his weapon.
"…doesn't feel like part of the dungeon."
The lights flickered slightly.
Just for a moment.
Then went back to normal.
The low, and irritating hum continued in the background.